


Fare Well Without Me

by vani_tas_talk



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (also sort of AU with the canon death-mechanics), (but also like), (canon Dream is not a good person), (kinda?), (so much sad), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet, Character Study, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Exile, Gen, Ghost Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt, Regret, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vani_tas_talk/pseuds/vani_tas_talk
Summary: Waking up alone in the middle of nowhere and with no idea as to why, really did not bode well for what's to come as he would soon find out.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 92
Kudos: 648





	1. there's a house upon the hill

He woke up squinting into the vast expanse of a clear blue sky and the blinding sun.  
  
The second thing to registered was the fact, that he was apparently sprawled out lying on the ground to be looking up into a sky like that.  
  
Which was quite a weird situation for him to be in, come to think of it. He can't recall falling asleep under an open sky in the middle of...  
  
_Where was he anyway?_  
  
The more awake he felt the more questions started to become apparent and he hadn't even moved yet.  
  
That would be a good start he decided as he slowly righted himself off the ground, groaning. One hand came up to rub at his stiff neck and aching throat. God, why did his whole body feel so heavy and sore?  
Comes from sleeping on the ground for _who-knows-how-long_ he supposes.  
  
His hands on either side of him landed in dry dirt ( _what?_ ) as he supports his aching upper body. Still slightly dazed he begins looking around and, to his growing bewilderment finds himself surrounded by tall grass and shrubs and nothing else.  
  
...This was beginning to make less and less sense and he would probably be way more panicked if he wasn't already so damn _confused_.  
  
Adding to his confusion was the fact that he was utterly alone and that even while looking around more franticly couldn't recognize any of his surroundings.  
  
Okay now he _really_ began to feel the panic slowly building up in his chest.  
But that wouldn't help anyone he reminded himself and forced the growing uneasiness down.  
  
Close your eyes.  
Take a breath.  
Rationalize, _think.  
_  
He opened his eyes again with a calmer mind. He needed to stay calm.  
He may have no clue what was going on but he wouldn't find answers if he didn't start looking.  
  
He rose off the ground on remarkably steady legs considering the circumstances, rolled his neck and shoulders again to get that annoying kink out and dusted himself of.  
  
First and foremost, he took stock of his clothing: A tight fitting dark undershirt and some dark faded jeans starting to rip at the knees accompanied by a pair of comfortable well worn boots and a tool belt of some kind with multiple loops, sachets and sheaths but without the tools usually held in those places. Huh.  
  
Nothing overly remarkable.  
Most interesting to him was the light green cloak draped over his person that he had somehow failed to really notice before.  
  
It was the shade of polished emeralds, almost uncomfortably bright against his other attire and reached just past his thighs. The fabric also had a large hood which he promptly pulled over his head to protect himself at least somewhat from the burning glare of the midday sun beating down on him.  
(- _or because just maybe he felt strangely unprotected without something to cover his head or face but he had no idea where that need for something to shield himself with came from_ -)  
  
The cloak at least felt familiar which was a stark relief amidst all his uncertainty about _everything_ _else_.  
It was obviously well loved given its various stains or occasional stitched up rips or tears near the seams and edges.  
  
He gripped the light but sturdy fabric within his hand and instantly felt indescribably more at ease.  
  
And yet...  
  
As he runs a hand through his dirty strands of hair and pushes them out of his face, he can't seem to shake that nagging feeling that something crucial was still missing.  
  
Hoping that this feeling would work itself out he began inspecting the area from his now elevated point of view and soon spotted some trees peaking just over the weeds a distance away.  
  
With no other landmarks to orientate himself by he headed in their direction, pushing the grass out of his eyes all the while.  
  
The tall grass began to thin out considerably the closer he got to what was apparently a forests edge. Still, he didn't have a good enough overview of the terrain with the grass fields on one side and some forest which also didn't give away anything useful on the other.  
  
Having nowhere else to go he picked a direction along the fields edge at random, hoping it would lead him somewhere other than further into the forest. (- _or anywhere familiar he was so **lost** he didn't know where or why he was here or what was going on **please**_ -)  
  
To his immense relief and surprise he actually _did_ arrive somewhere and it was more helpful than he could have hoped for in that moment.  
Soon enough he found himself walking into a clearing atop a flat hill.  
  
There stood a lonely small cabin in the middle of nowhere.  
  
_Right. Okay. Totally normal and not suspicious at all._

But it was at least something.  
  
Wary, he started circling the structure and took note of its state.  
It seemed weathered and overgrown in some places but also well taken care of in others. He could tell that it was build more in a hurry than with care and that resulting faults were patched up later over time.  
  
Trying to peek through a dirty window turned out to be futile since drawn curtains obscured the view inside.  
  
Stepping back from the glass he almost tripped over backwards with a yelp as he trampled the crops of a small gardening area. It wasn’t much. Just some carrots and potatoes, barely enough to feed a single person at that. Mh.  
  
Being left with no other options for now he carefully stepped on the creaking porch and approached the door framed by withering potted plants and more drawn shut windows.  
  
He raised his fist to knock.  
  
"Hel-" and stopped as the words got stuck. He coughed and cleared his throat.  
Really, why did it feel like he had swallowed a block of _fucking_ _sandpaper_? Man, he could use a sip of water about now.  
  
Regaining he voice he tried again and knocked firmly on the wood this time.  
"Hello? Is anyone home?"  
  
He waited a beat, then two but no answer came.  
(- _and why had he not really expected one anyway? It felt like he knew as soon as he saw the shack that no one would be there to open up even if it did seem well lived in_ -)  
  
"Alright..." he mumbled to himself. He really shouldn't be breaking and entering a random cabin in the wilderness but he needed answers and what other option was there really? Testing the handle he found the door surprisingly unlocked.  
  
That was... _convenient_. Okay, so just entering then.  
  
Creaking at the hinges, he carefully opened the door. The daylight streaming through the entrance finally illuminated the inside of the cabin.  
  
Which lay in various states of complete disarray.  
  
_Well lived in indeed._  
  
There was at lot going in such a small space, quite frankly. He didn't even know _what_ he was looking for and now he had the problem of _where_ on top of that.  
  
Okay, first things first. Light.  
He stepped over multiple items littering the floor that he didn't have the mind to identify as he made his way to one of the windows and drew the curtains back.  
  
Aside from lighting up the place, the action also stirred up some dust that had gathered on the counters and shelves around the house that were filled with jars or other items. It wasn't much but enough to be noticeable for him. A few days worth at least if he had to guess.  
  
He took a better look around the layout now. What seemed to be a small kitchen area was pressed into one corner of the room accompanied by an equally small table and a single chair. There were shelves with books and other trinkets, multiple chests with food and materials and even an oven that had long since gone cold opposite another comfier chair but ultimately nothing of interest.  
  
The only thing amongst all this that caught his eye were the shattered remains of what he supposes was once a white mask of some sort that lay on the table.  
  
But he decided to take a closer look after he had scouted out the whole building fist and so he approached the closed door in the far corner of the room.  
  
He reached for the handle with a frown and pressed down softly. (- _why did this feel so **wrong**? Where did this feeling of **dread** suddenly come from? He didn't want to go in there but why why **why**_ -)  
  
He opened the door with more force than probably necessary and froze has soon as he looked up from the handle and found out the exact reason _why_.  
  
He didn't register anything past the body his eyes had zeroed in on.  
  
The corpse hanging from the ceiling.  
  
_His_ corpse hanging from _his_ ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First work ever published yay!  
> English isn't my first language so constructive criticism or any comments at all really would be very much appreciated! :)
> 
> The death AU part is quite simple if anyones wondering:  
> instead of "3 canon lifes" you only don't respawn if you've lost your "will to live" (its not mine I saw that one on tumblr)
> 
> (chapter titles will by lyrics from 'Leave a Light On' by Tom Walker cuz I think it fits)


	2. hiding from the truth ain't gonna make this all okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self-hatred, suicidal thoughts

Several months in solitary exile really do change a person.  
  
Who would have thought.  
  
To be quite honest, Dream didn't even know if it really had been months at this point. I could have been only a couple of weeks or maybe he had been here for a year already...  
  
Not like he was counting, since he hardly saw the point in doing so. There was no going back anyway so why worry about it?  
  
He still remembered clearly his first week of wandering through the lands and how _furious_ he had been. His past self had been practically _frothing_ at the mouth with the idea of setting up camp no two hundred blocks away and to start plotting his big revenge against all the people of L'Manberg and the whole SMP that had wronged him and forced him into exile.  
  
But the anger left him soon after a night or two of continued walking and he forgot all about it. Instead he just... kept on walking.  
  
And walking. And walking.  
  
His food ran out eventually and he was brought out of his dazed state by hunger clenching his stomach. He finally started to take in his surroundings again past only registering everything as either _danger_ or _no_ _danger_.  
  
He scouted out the next best area to set up a fire (- _he didn't have anything more than what was on his person when he had left so there wasn't anything to set down or store away_ -) and combed the surrounding forests for anything edible.  
  
It was surprisingly peaceful, being alone during those first few nights. Hunting his own food, sleeping near a campfire under the starry sky and slowly letting his guard down without the threat of anyone seeing him vulnerable and weak for once.  
  
Time started to pass him by strangely after that.   
  
As the need for a solid shelter grew bigger the longer he stayed, he soon finished setting up the bare bones of his refuge (- _for lack of a better word, and being honest, it wasn't much else. This was no house and definitely no **home**_ -), and had a hard time finding anything to occupy himself with since.  
  
And _that_ was precisely what was supposed to happen, wasn't it?  
  
Now he had endless hours and days to be alone with himself and his thoughts and to think all about what he did. Like some bratty child sent into the timeout corner.  
  
And because that was practically what he _was_ right now, that's exactly what he did.  
  
Thinking. Alone.   
  
_For_ _hours_ _on_ _end_.  
  
But being alone with only ones thoughts if you were someone like Dream, and had _done the things he did_ , wasn't all that pleasant as it turns out.  
His days and nights were soon not filled with him sleeping, but rather lying awake either on his newly build bed or just out on his porch when he could find the energy to even get up and feed himself.  
More often than not, he forgot that _that_ was a thing that needed to be done as a human being.   
  
...Even if he sometimes hardly felt like one anymore. Hardly felt human when reflecting on what he had done to some people.  
  
To his _best_ _friends_ , his _family_.   
  
_How had all of it spiraled out of control so catastrophically?_  
He hadn't seen anyone as anything but a means to an end anymore.   
What had he even been trying to _achieve_?  
  
Power, under the guise 'safety' over the people living in what he demanded was rightfully his land? On _what_ _bases_ even?  
  
To act like he was preventing another war that would not have broken out anyway without him explicitly causing it?  
  
 _What that fuck **had** he been doing, actually?_  
  
He had forced a kids hand and made him send his best friend, _a damn child_ , into exile!  
  
God, they had every right to do the same to him. Maybe he would even learn a thing or two...  
  
It became increasingly hard to do anything else but grief and mourn and _regret_ the longer he was alone like this.  
  
He had pushed his own best friends away, had _hurt_ them, to reach some sort of end goal even he himself couldn't remember anymore.  
And he missed them, so _badly_. All of them.  
  
But even if they would maybe have, _somehow_ , _unfathomably_ , forgiven him, he couldn't bring himself to try and find out.  
  
He couldn't go back and face them. He was terrified of what they or _he_ would do if they didn't.  
  
So he became a coward, on top of being a monster.  
  
And he stayed, not knowing how long it had been already.  
  
And he forgot.   
  
The wars, their faces, their names. The good in between it all.  
  
He knew he was here, alone in the middle of nowhere for a reason, and that he was never to return to the coordinates in his communicator of a place that had been labeled _'home'_. He could just never remember _why_.  
  
But he knew that he was a bad person.  
  
And a coward.

And a monster.

So it was fine. It was _justified_.  
  
He had caused pain and hurt and wars and _why was he even here anymore?_  
  
He had nothing to show for in his defense and everything he _could_ remember spoke against him even having any rights to be allowed around people, let alone be left _alive_ for that matter.   
Because he was a lost cause and there was no helping him.  
  
Something like him wasn't to be _helped_.  
  
That's why he was here after all.  
  
Besides, he had a feeling that he himself had killed others (- _children, friends, you killed your family_ -) for far less before.  
  
So what was there left to be done? What was left to be said on this matter?  
  
Nothing. _Nothing_ _at_ _all_.  
  
And so he'd made up his mind sooner than he'd realized.  
And one of those many sunrises, that had been merging together for as long as he could recall, found him sitting hunched over on his porch, softly fumbling with the communicator embedded in his leather arm bracer.  
  
He alternated between blankly staring at the mesmerizing mix of orange and pink that filled the sky, and the small screen that read _'home'_. It filled him with an equally complicated mix of emotions he would not have been able to identify even if he tried.  
  
He sighed.  
  
He supposes, that the scenery painted by a sunrise wasn't half bad as the last thing to see before one died.  
  
He made his way back into the cabin, which had become surprisingly homey with time. Still, he can't see himself missing any of it. (- _and its not like anything or **anyone** would miss **him**_ -)  
  
He opens a chest and pulls out his familiar green cloak and the broken shards of what once was his signature mask.  
  
He neatly folds the fabric und gently lays it on an empty space on the table with the pieces of the mask on top.  
He had broken it some time ago in a fit of rage against the person that had destroyed everything he had once loved and lived for, as he threw the damn thing across the room, it shattering on impact with a wall.  
  
He glared down at what were the remains of someone _cruel_ and _terrible_ and of everything he had grown to _hate_ about himself.  
  
Small teardrops fell unnoticed on the cloak, staining the fabric a darker shade of green, as _regret_ and _grief_ for times since past threatened to choke him once again.  
  
He put down his arm bracer next to the pathetic display, its screen still mocking him with the promise of a long lost place called _'home'_.   
He couldn't stand to look at it anymore.  
  
Wiping a sleeve across his face, he made his way to the bedroom at the back of his cabin.  
  
His final coherent thought before he entered it felt like a fuzzy memory of him being embraced and laughing alongside three other people (- _friends, family_ -), none of them he could recognize.  
  
Still, he hoped that they were doing well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time woo!   
> Next chapter we're gonna continue were we left of last time oh boy...
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. guiding like a lighthouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: dead body (it's not explicitly described but it's there so... yea), panick attack (sort of)

He hardly registered himself slamming the door shut, his legs giving out under him and his curled up form pressing itself back first against the door, all of which happening in no more than two seconds flat.  
  
He didn’t register anything really, other than his own continuously and more frantic growing thoughts alternating between _what_ _the_ _fuck_ _what_ _the_ _fuck_ _whatthe **fuck**_ \- and _no_ _nono **no**_ -  
  
This _cannot_ be happening.  
  
 _What_ **_was_** _happening?  
_  
That was _his_ body. His _fucking_ _corpse_ hanging from what was apparently also _his_ cabin ceiling.  
  
He- _holy shit_ \- he fucking hanged himself.  
  
(- _no wonder his neck hurt like a bitch,_ came the sudden hysterical realization-)  
  
How in the _hell_ did he hang himself but was also _here_ right now to _see that with his own eyes?_  
  
For all intents and purposes he should be fucking _dead_ right now. (- _he was dead, he **is** dead, he **died**_ -)  
  
He noticed suddenly, as an ache started to build up in his chest, that breathing was a thing one needed to do (- _why would he need to breath when he was fucking dead_ -) and that he was currently hunched over on the floor, head in his hands and spiraling _hard_.  
  
 _Remember, calm._  
  
Take a breath.  
Hold. Breath out.  
  
Take another breath.  
  
God, it was hard to stay focused with the biggest fucking distraction one could possibly think of _right behind that door at his back-  
_  
 _Breath_.  
  
One of his hands released its death grip on his hair and found its way against his heaving chest, feeling the panicked gallop of his heart.  
  
 _Way too fast_. He needed to calm down, badly. This is not helpful or productive at all.  
  
 _Helpful for what though?_ What was there to be helped because-  
  
 _No_. _Stop_.  
  
First, _breath_.  
  
He took a large breath of air in through his nose and released it again out of his mouth.  
  
 _Good. Do that again._  
  
 _Again_.  
  
 _Good_.  
  
Slowly his heartbeat calmed down and his breathing began to even out as well.  
  
Alright. Stay calm. Rationalize, _think_.  
  
This was... _so fucked up._  
  
Energy seeped out of his body alongside the tension, and his arms and legs, which didn't feel like they were attached to his body at all if he was being honest, fell limp at his side, like a puppet with its strings cut.  
  
He stared blankly ahead through eyes that were still a bit blurry, not having the energy to do much of anything else beside remain sitting on the floor.  
  
So, facts. Behind him was his own dead lifeless body.  
  
First and most important question: _How_.  
  
He _himself_ was dead. Clearly, he had to be. So he was... _what_ , a ghost?  
  
He glanced down to his hands, softly flexing his fingers. He seemed and _felt_ rather alive for being a ghost. But now that he knew what he was looking for, his form did give of a strange sort of ... _glow_.  
And if he knew nothing else, but that was not something _alive_ people normally did.  
  
 _So, ghost._ Okay, that was not as improbable as he might have thought at first. He knew that some peoples ghosts could remain after their final deaths. The reasons varied but the general understanding was, that those were the searching souls of the departed, that could not yet rest.  
  
What they were searching for though, hardly anybody could guess.  
And in that case, what was _he_ searching for?  
  
There had to be something or else he would not be here to begin with.  
(- _how did he know all that? He didn't know where he got this knowledge from but he acted like he had already experienced a situation like this before-_ )  
  
Fine, so he had died. And now he was here, _again_ , as the lost soul of that dead man next door. _Great_. **_Fantastic_**.  
Big issue with that was, that he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for to find said _'rest'_ , so to say.  
  
There was literally _nothing here_!  
What, did the fucking crops need watering? The damn house a thorough dusting? All points that were true but that was hardly a reason for a mans soul to be stuck amongst the living after death.  
  
Who in the hell would even _hang_ _himself_ anyway if there were still things left to be done? One would assume if you were able to die for real, that there would be nothing left for you to do since you didn't want to _be_ anymore in the first place.  
  
Well, _apparently not_.  
  
He took a deep breath once again and released it in an exhausted sigh.  
As he aimlessly lifted his head to the ceiling, his now much less fuzzy vision settled on the table.  
  
Right. _The mask_.  
  
Well it had felt somehow important when he first saw it so this would probably be as good a place to start as any.  
  
Getting up was a painstaking process with his body being as tired as it was. On shaking knees he tripped towards the object in question, and let himself collapse again on the singular chair to take a closer look.  
  
There were obviously small pieces missing, but the larger shards could be arranged to form a _very_ unsettling smile. Staring down at the empty expression, it didn't feel happy at all.  
  
He felt drawn in by the thing but looking at it for too long made a tidal wave of conflicting emotions rise up in his chest. For some reason, it almost made tears prick in his eyes, so he hastily pushed it to the side and tried his best to ignore it.  
  
Equally emotionally charged was the folded green fabric, that he quickly realized was the same cloak currently wrapped around his ghostly form. Except, that this was the real deal. 'Alive-him' hadn't died in that thing though, but since he was wearing it now, it probably held a deeper meaning of some kind.  
(- _not that he would be able to **remember** anything about that, but rather felt like he was participating in some horribly twisted version of the worlds worst scavenger hunt_-)  
  
He did like the cloak though. Having it cover his form gave him a ( _even if albeit_ _false)_ sense of protection.  
  
It felt _special,_ somehow.  
  
...but was still pretty unhelpful in giving him any clues as to what to do.  
  
He finally reached for the arm bracer that had been sitting next to mask and cloak. He strapped it around his right arm purely out of habit (- _that he didn't remember ever having_ -) and twisted his wrist, to look at the small screen of what he recognized was a communicator.  
  
Huh. Okay so, if you owned a comm, you usually used it to, well... _communicate_ with _someone_.  
  
So that meant there was someone else, right? (- _or at least there had been_ -)  
  
He quickly tried turning on the device, but soon realized that it had ran out of power some time ago. So he hurried out to the porch, trying to get it charge up by the last rays of light, that were vanishing way to quickly behind the trees.  
  
(- _when had the sun started setting? How long had he **been** here already, **what**_ -)  
  
"Come on... Come on!" he tried urging it along while the small circular loading icon kept spinning onscreen, refusing to show him anything else.  
  
And the sun kept sinking lower.  
And the circle kept spinning lazily.  
  
"Please! Hurry up, damn it!" he cried out, desperation clear in his voice (- _he was **not** spending another minute stuck in this place with his own **corpse** hanging just one room over and still no idea where to go or what to do, or **so help him**_ -)  
  
When finally the comm gave of a soft chime, and...  
  
  
  
 _'home'_  
  
  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
So there really _was_ a place (- _a **home**_ -) for him out there, and he did not, in fact, just live here alone in the woods in some tiny weathered cabin!  
  
Had. _Had_ _lived_.  
  
He frowned, suddenly left with even more questions than before. Euphoria, at finally having somewhere to get answers from, was quickly drowned out by the bitter taste of foreboding filling his mouth.  
  
...He- he had a _home_. And a comm. So most likely also other _people_ that knew him, if this so called _'home'_ wasn't _here_.  
  
He had people that would _care_ if he were dead. (- _or maybe not_ -)  
  
In that moment, standing so utterly lost and alone in that clearing, he finally for the first time felt the full weight of the situation crashing down upon his shoulders.  
  
There was _something_ \- something _huge_ that he _wasn't **getting**_. Something _crucial_ that was missing from the bigger picture, and left him fumbling aimlessly with the few puzzle pieces he did have.  
  
What had _happened_ to him?  
  
That was the question, wasn't it? And maybe that was also already the entire reason _why_ he was even here right now.  
  
He let the cooled down outdoor air fill his lungs. Still standing there, utterly alone and lost in the middle of that damn clearing in front of that damn cabin, belonging to a dead man.  
  
He couldn't afford having another breakdown right now, even if he had wanted to do nothing else since he had first woken up it that _fucking_ _field_.  
  
He finally had a place to start looking and more questions than ever, so he _could_ _not_ afford to stand around if he wanted this shitshow to be over any time soon.  
  
Steeling his resolve and clearing his mind, he opened his eyes that he hadn't even noticed he'd closed.  
  
It was getting quite dark, he observed, and monsters would soon start crawling out of their hiding places.  
But he had a feeling that the undead wouldn't attack their own ( _ha_ ). Besides, what was the worst they could do, _kill him?_  
  
He shot a last glance back towards the closed door of that lonely cabin, and what he knew lay within it. (- _or rather hung_ -)  
  
No way in hell was he going back in there again, even if it felt kind of wrong to leave it or, well... himself just _there_.  
But it's not like anyone else was going to stumble upon him ( _right?_ ).  
  
Without further thought he turned around, coordinates branded into his mind's eye, and left.  
  
He had somewhere to needed to be at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got longer than I had thought it would...oof
> 
> Thanks a lot for the comments and kudos y'all! Really makes me happy that ppl are actually interested in this haha <3
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed it so far and I'll see you all again when we arrive back 'home' next chapter mh? ;)


	4. tell me what's been happening, ...

His way _'home'_ was decidedly longer than at first anticipated. A _lot_.  
  
More often than not, he found himself rather relieved about the fact, that ghosts didn’t actually need any rest. He also apparently didn’t need to worry about food or water or anything at all, for that matter, besides arriving.  
Somehow this didn't make him feel any better.  
  
Walking for this long without pause made him pretty glad at first, that he didn't have feet that were physical enough to feel actual pain, but after five days he almost found himself longing for it. For anything to distract himself with, really. Anything at all, to keep his constantly racing thoughts at bay.  
  
He was practically running on nothing, but determination to finally get some answers, not being able to think about anything else, but he was also scared. He wanted so badly to _know_ , that it was almost a physical pain, but he was also afraid.

Afraid of what would happen once he found what he was looking for.

  
(- _if anything at all.  
  
Maybe there would be nothing when he arrived 'home'.  
  
What if it was all just wishful thinking on his part and 'home' actually didn’t hold any significance at all and turned out to be just a base he got sick of?  
  
What if he walked all this way and ultimately found nothing at all and then he would be without direction again and would still be no closer to having any idea why he was even here or what he was supposed to do-_)  
  
He tried not to think too hard about it.  
  
Because, until he had reached _'home'_ and either confirmed or disproven his worst-case-scenarios, he would stand firm in his belief, that someone would be there. Someone would be there to help him.

  
Someone, who would finally give him some damn answers, and he would be able to find his 'rest' and be done with the whole 'living thing' for real this time. (- _as had clearly been intended on his previous try, with the execution part (ha) having not worked out that well_ -)  
  
Maybe he was just stubborn like that, who knows. _Not himself that’s for sure._  
  
He knew next to nothing about anything, to be honest, least of all himself. Or rather, about whoever the person was he _had_ been.  
  
_That_ ongoing existential crisis was the second thing that occupied most of his mind during his journey.

  
(- _because there simply had to be a reason, that someone was living alone in the middle of nowhere, and that said someone eventually took his own life, right?  
  
**Something** had to have happened, for this someone to **still** leave behind a ghost. Because this, along with these cryptic as fuck coordinates leading 'home' of all places, just **did not** make sense, right?  
  
And said place also being so fucking far away, that the only logical conclusion one could possibly come to, was, that this dead man really **did** **not** want to be there at all._

 _All of this had to have a **reason** …  
  
...right?_-)  
  
But those were all problems for later, he told himself. (- _or tried to anyway_ -)  
  
It had no use to dwell over the 'what ifs' of his circumstances of being, so he shoved it all to the back of his mind, along with the _crippling_ _panic_ that had been sitting there since day one.  
  
Speaking of, how long has it been anyway? He had, at some point, stopped paying attention to the ongoing shift of day and night or anything else at all, except for that little screen on his forearm.  
Days and biomes were at this point all just blending together in his head.  
  
Until finally, on a new days dawn, he came to a stop. He was standing behind a fence that surrounded a huge clearing, which bordered on a spruce forest to the west.  
  
Struck speechless and with knees that felt dangerously weak all of a sudden, he surveyed the area. It seemed like a farm of sorts, with none native trees growing in one corner, crop farms a bit further in and various large animal pens to his left.  
  
This... _was this it?_

After walking for this long, he could scarcely believe it himself. He had been half expecting to never arrive anywhere at all. That it would turn out to be all just in his head.

Yet, as a dopey smile settle over his face, here he stood.  
  
Hurriedly he climbed the fence, and, when he didn't see anyone around upon further inspection of the farm, set foot onto the wooden path tunneling through a small hill up ahead.  
  
He was practically sprinting over the planks beneath his feet, the sun just beginning to rise on his right, casting golden beams through evergreen branches, when he once again came to a stumbling halt.  
  
The sight of mighty walls and the even mightier towers of what was clearly a castle, nearly brought him to his knees once more. The structure looked absolutely stunning, colorful windows and flags positively glowing in the light of the rising sun and bathing the whole building in an almost ethereal glow.  
  
"...whoa." he heard himself breath out, now stepping way slower along the path, as to keep admiring the beautiful display.  
  
(- _which he silently noted as another thing on his ever growing list of 'things-that-feel-inexplicably-familiar'.  
The sight of those imposing walls along with the feeling of wood under his feet and sun hitting the spruce trees as it did made him feel all sorts of emotions, spanning from relief to rage and everything in between_-)  
  
Even being as distracted as he was while walking through the archway of the walls and into the building itself, he still noticed the small courtyard out of the corner of his eyes.  
  
Still ever vigilant, he made his way over and had to kneel down next to the fountain, as his legs refused to hold him up any longer. (- _be that out of exhaustion catching up with him or just the sheer overwhelming relief of **having made it** , he couldn't tell_-)  
  
With a sigh, he dunked his hands into the water and splashed a hand full of it into his face, more in hopes of grounding himself and collecting his thoughts than out of any real necessity.  
  
_So this is it then_. He made it all this way and now he would finally get his answers, whatever they may be.  
  
All of a sudden, it all sounded and felt way too overwhelming for him, and he almost didn't want to get back up.  
Just sitting here with his arms folded on the fountains edge, leaning forward and staring into the blank milky nothingness that were the eyes of his own rippling reflection. It was weirdly comforting.  
  
But he had to. That’s why he came here after all. Right now, he needed answers more than comfort.  
  
"Alright." wet fingers carded through equally drenched strands of hair as he rose of the ground. "I can do this."  
  
He needed to find someone. That was probably a safe start as his first objective. See how, or if they reacted to him, and depending on that, figure out who exactly he used to be. And through that, hopefully also find out, what he was supposed to be doing here or why he even was still _here_.  
Easy enough, right?  
  
He first started with roaming the castle for a while (- _and if he did that only to enjoy the calming colorful lights that filled its halls just a tad longer, so what?_ -) but, as luck would have it, he couldn’t find anyone within it.  
  
He left behind the castle a bit reluctantly, following the wooden path beneath the wall once more and crossing a bridge, its end guarded by a pair of watchtowers. The path was heading for a lake as it seemed, houses and other strange buildings coming into view at its various shores which were framed by a long fence.  
  
Residing in the middle of the lake, in the center of everything else and being connected with said shores through branching pathways in four directions, was a rather large cubical building.

It seemed important.  
  
And according to his comm, it _was_ , since the coordinates he'd been following for the last ' _could-be-month_ ' were linked to it's exact point of location.

  
So this was _'home'_ , huh?

  
(- _it certainly **felt** like home with how badly he was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to sprit over and embrace again all that **felt** familiar, but he also knew **wasn't** at all actually_-)  
  
...and wait, was that _movement_ on the inside? Sure enough, he could see _something_ happening behind the windows…  
  
_Holy shit_ , there were actually _people in there!_ He couldn't make out anything specific but that were _people_ for sure! The first he'd seen in- well, all his time of existence really. (- _his own corpse didn't count and now was **really** not the time to be thinking about **that** again_-)  
  
He hastily made his way over to the wooden archway, setting foot onto the planks floating on the water.  
  
...when he was suddenly hit with a _terrible_ combination of nausea and vertigo, having to brace himself on the fence to keep from kneeling over.  
  
His head began to pound, vision tilting on its axis and his ears filling with a terribly loud and annoying ringing noise.  
  
(- _he - **he shouldn't be here** -_

 _  
  
what?-  
  
but he came **all this way** -  
  
what was **happening**?_-)  
  
All of a sudden, the though of approaching them, being near them or these people so much as _seeing_ him (- _recognizing him_ -) made him want to hurl.  
  
On weak legs, he made a sudden and rather ungraceful dive to the right, curling up amidst some bushes and trees, praying that his cloak would hide his shaking form.  
  
He screwed his eyes shut in pain and gripped his head, hoping to ride out this pounding headache. (- _he was beginning to see a pattern here he didn't think he liked very much_ -)  
  
_What the fuck was that, what in **the hell** was he **doing?!**_ The solution to all his problems was literally right across that lake, no fifty blocks away! That was his whole and _only_ reason for coming here, yet his body almost violently opposed him in actually getting any answers!

 _What was **wrong** **with** **him?!**_  
  
A sudden thought dripped disgustingly slow like thick syrup through the pain of his headache and into his mind.

... _what- what if this maybe wouldn't play out as he'd like to imagine…_  
  
He didn't even know these people.  
He had no idea what they would do once they saw him, how they would react. He could hypothesize all he wanted but he would never _really_ know for sure what would happen.  
  
And that unknown _terrified_ _him_.  
  
It would only be the smart thing to do, to maybe just... observed, first. That was a good idea, right? Get a feeling for how or _who_ they were, and how they acted. That was only tactical, _right_?  
(- _he was postponing, he knew he was, but he just **couldn't**. He couldn't face them, the thought made him feel terrified and vulnerable and sick to his stomach. He didn't **want to**_ -)  
  
With his headache having subsided a bit and a plan that didn’t make him want to throw up in mind, he slowly crept through the foliage, careful to stay relatively hidden, whilst still getting a good look at the building on the lake.  
  
He was relived to find, that the people where still inside. There were... three people as far as he could make out. Maybe four. (- _his eyes were a bit off, admittedly_ -)  
  
They were walking as a group, now moving to... the back door- _wait, no- they were **leaving** , and they- **no** , he had to_\- **_he couldn’t let them just walk away-_**  
  
  


  
  
"Hey, are you okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do they keep getting longer??? This wasn't even planned to end where it did and it's still the longest chapter yet what?  
> ... at least it let me do a cliffhanger hehe (guess who? ;D)
> 
> Thank all of you so much for reading and leaving comments! <3


	5. ...what's been on your mind

He whipped around and was on unsteady feet way faster than his own foggy mind could catch up with. The action was more reflex than anything else.  
The sight before him however froze him in place before he could so much as think of doing anything more.  
It felt like being back at the fountain, to now again be staring wide-eyed into familiar and seemingly endless white nothingness.  
  
The figure before him had his eyes.  
They were tall and lanky, clad in a thick woollen sweater and most importantly _they had his eyes_. And also no footfalls, apparently.  
How else could they have snuck up on him as they had. (-he couldn’t help but wonder: did he walk soundlessly like that too?-)  
  
He must have made quite the sight himself. Poised between the trees as he was, like a wild animal, unsure if to strike or bolt. He currently leaned more towards 'bolt' if he was being honest because _holy_ _shit_ _someone was there, right there before him, and now it was all over because he had been found and-_  
But the realization that said someone was also _dead_ , like him, kept him firmly frozen in place. He didn't know what to do with that information.  
  
Upon his startled display the figure took a step back, slightly raising their hands in a placating notion. "Ah sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you!" they chuckled. "It's just... you were sitting there and it kind of looked like you were crying or something, so I thought, you know." they trailed of and gestured vaguely at his person.  
  
He kept staring at their eyes, not having moved a muscle and still wound up like a tensed spring. He noted however, that their voice was strangely airy and had a sort of echoing effect. (-did he also sound like that when he spoke?-)  
  
"You- you're dead." he remarked dumbly, his brain drenched in panic as it was, and refusing to really process anything beyond that singular fact.  
  
The other ghost blinked a few times, their smile remaining firmly in place.  
"I am." they confirmed, somehow completely unfazed by that.  
"My name's Ghostbur, who are you?" they said suddenly, way to cheery, and a hand was enthusiastically shoved into his direction.  
  
What was _with this guy?_  
  
He didn't react other than a small flinch, since he was still trying to process that, firstly: he had been found, someone was _right there_ and _looking at him_ and holy _shit he might throw up for real this time_ \- and secondly: they were a ghost. Like him.  
  
Wait- hold on, had they just introduced themselves to him? And asked who he was?  
  
Ghostbur, as was apparently their- or well, _his_ \- name, didn't know who he was.  
  
But that ...  
Did that mean he was right after all? Was this just some place he didn't have any connection to, and he came all this way for nothing?  
But the coordinates... this was _'home'_. It had to be, so why didn't Ghostbur know him then?  
  
_God_ , too many things were happening _way too fast_ for his muddled brain right now, and he didn't get any time to _process!_ He couldn't _think_ right now, he couldn't-  
  
No. Nonono- _Breath_. Not the time.  
  
_Breath_.  
  
The other was still smiling stupidly at him, hand _still_ outstretched.  
  
So, Ghostbur. Alright. _Think_.  
  
The stranger hadn't done anything drastic as of yet, so he could work this situation out _without_ having another break down. He could, thank you very much.  
(- _why did everything have to be so **stressing**? Ever since he woke up, he was just thrown from one horrible situation into the next and he was really getting **sick of it**_ -)  
  
Ghostbur seemed friendly, sure. Almost oblivious to the point of ignorance. He had approached a complete stranger with the intend of helping him, had introduced himself first, but wasn't even worried about what this dead person’s ghost was doing here.  
  
So either this was all just a ploy and Ghostbur did know who he was, and was just waiting for the right moment to- to do _something_ , or he was actually just _like this_ and didn't think about what was currently going on.  
  
It sounded stupid to put it like this. Then again, Ghostbur had ample opportunity to attack him or do whatever while he was distracted. So why hadn't he?  
  
Running wasn't an option anymore. Even if Ghostbur had good intentions, he would surely tell someone else that he was here.  
(- _and there were others here, he had seen them, so he couldn't risk them finding out about him when he wasn't **ready**_ -)

  
He also shouldn't fight this guy. Besides the fact, that he was still feeling rather shaky from whatever had happened on the path, he didn't even know what the other may be capable of.  
He also really didn't want to throw hands with the first person he came across. First impressions and all.  
  
But most importantly, Ghostbur was a _ghost_.  
(- _seriously though, what kind of stupid name even was that?_ -)  
Ghostbur would know what it was like to be like him. Ghostbur could, potentially, help him figure this out if he played his cards right.  
  
So even if Ghostbur did have any ulterior motives, there really was only one sensible option here...  
  
He lifted his own hand tentatively and clasped Ghostbur's, while trying for a smile of his own. (- _probably unsuccessfully_ -)

"It's um, nice to meet you, Ghostbur."  
He let the 'who are you' part fall under the table since he didn't actually know that either.  
  
It seemed to be a non-issue, as Ghostbur just vigorously shook his hand for longer than was comfortable, and spoke unaffected and echoing as ever "So tell me, Green, what brings you here to this lovely place?"  
  
He frowned. Wait, so _did_ Ghostbur know him or _not_? "...green?"  
  
The ghost nodded eagerly, finally releasing his hand and gestured at his person. Oh. "Yeah! I like your cloak, it's very vibrant. You don't mind if I call you Green, do you?"  
  
Well it certainly wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened to him, to be given a name by someone he had just met. Might as well. Come to think of it he hadn't really thought about his own name, or lack thereof, since it hadn't mattered up until now...  
  
"Uh, I guess not..." I seemed like the right thing to say since Ghostbur brightened even more at that.  
  
He continued eagerly before Green (- _doesn’t sound quite right_ -) could get another word in "Great! So, anyway, Green. I haven't seen you around before. Are you lost or something? New in town, maybe?" He gasped excitedly "Can I show you around?"  
  
This was certainly easier than expected. "I'm, uh actually just passing through, but sure." Green threw a quick look over his shoulder to where the people he'd been watching, had left off a while ago. "I was looking for something, actually, and I think you could really help me with this. If you want."  
  
"Ouh! That sounds fun. What’re you looking for?" the ghost went on, happily moving leading him towards the path again.  
  
"Yeah I was kind of hoping I'd know when I found it so..."  
  
Ghostbur furrowed his brows, and looked owlishly back at him "That's a strange thing to be looking for, but you're a ghost so maybe not that strange after all." he said casually, and stepped onto the floating path.

(- _so what, Ghostbur had noticed the whole being-a-dead-person thing, but just hadn't deemed it an issue. Alright then_ -)  
  
Nothing happened when Green stepped on it after him. He gave a vague noise of agreement as they entered the building resting in the centre of the lake. "I guess you'd know about that, mh?"  
  
It was somehow pretty anticlimactic setting foot into it now.  
Sure it still felt important and more like home than anywhere else he'd been to, but it ultimately wasn't as significant as it had felt mere minutes ago.  
But it was nice to finally be _'home'_ , so to say. (- _it was never really about the place tough, was it?_ -)  
  
Ghostbur turned towards him as they walked around the staircase in the middle of the room. "Oh yeah, ever since Wilbur died, Phil had been reading all these books about ghosts and how they come into existence and stuff. Maybe he could help you? He should be around town today..."  
  
Neither of those names rang any bells so he waved Ghostbur off. Having him as his guide would have to be enough for now. More risks should only be taken if this didn't work out.  
  
"Well anyway," the ghost gestured grandly around the room. "Community House! First building ever build around here, or so I've heard, so pretty important."  
  
Huh. Now, Green didn't quite know what to make of that. If this was his 'home' than-  
  
"Build by Sapnap, George and Dream I think, so it's also, like, sacred or something."  
  
  
  
...now _that_ felt like three consecutive punches straight to the face.  
  
  
  
Sapnap  
  
George  
  
Dream  
  
  
  
_Dream- **Dream** -_  
  
...He- he _knew_ _those_ _names!_  
The realization nearly left him breathless.  
  
And Dream was... _Dream was him!_ He was Dream, or he... _had_ _been_ Dream.  
  
_Dream was dead_.  
  
Then what about Sapnap and George? He must have known them. He knew he did, he- well, he didn't quite remember per se, but _God_ , those names struck something so deep rooted and familiar and _warm_ within him.  
  
They were his _family_.  
  
(- _were they concerned that he was gone? Did they even know? He felt like they would miss him. They would, right? He could feel that they mattered so much to Dream, so surely_ -)  
  
Sapnap, George and Dream.  
  
Hearing those three names together made him feel so lightheaded and dizzy all at once, he didn't know how he was still standing upright.  
  
But- _fuck_ \- _he was Dream!_  
And Sapnap and George were his best friends, his _family_ , that much he knew. He could _feel it_.  
(- _or maybe had been. He wasn't yet ready to guess, if that would be, because he wasn't **really** Dream or if the three of them had stopped being friends long before that-_)  
  
As Green's (- _Ghostdream's? Yeah, no. Not happening_ -) whole worldview was currently reconstructing itself, Ghostbur just kept on walking down the path, enthusiastically chatting away about each building they passed.  
  
Green (- _Dream? Was he?_ -) himself had long since stopped listening and was just mindlessly following after him, sometimes giving sounds of agreement when Ghostbur turned to him.  
  
All he could really think about was Sapnap, George and Dream.  
  
Sapnap and George.  
  
_George and Sapnap._  
  
At some point along the way he started testing the sound of the names on his lips, and mumbled them over and over again. Saying them brought a small tentative smile to his face, and also nearly tears to his eyes.  
  
It felt _good_ , hearing those names. _Saying_ those names.  
  
He wasn't ready to admit as much to Ghostbur, but he also needed to know something else...  
  
"Um, Ghostbur. Wha- What happened to Dream?"  
  
Wow. Could _not_ have phrased that even more on-the-nose, could he? _Way to be subtle..._ _  
_  
Ghostbur came to an abrupt stop in front of a massive building with white pillars, cut of mid-sentence about something with a museum.  
He considered Green with a questioning and unsure expression, and Dream (- _wait no_ -) forced himself to not look away.  
  
Ghostbur opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, donning for once a pretty serious expression.  
"I-" he drew the word out for a moment.  
"Well, um, no one really talks about _him_ that much... I don't think I'm allowed to either. They'll get upset again..."  
  
He looked very uncomfortable with the subject, but Green needed to know.  
Ghostbur knew what had happened to Dream and he needed to know.  
  
"Please, Ghostbur... I- I won't tell anyone or whatever, but _please_. What happened?" he sounded desperate, and way more invested in this than should be appropriate, even to his own ears.  
  
Ghostbur had a conflicted expression, and made a noise not unlike a whine. He glanced around, like he was scared to get caught, then nodded towards one of the white pillars.  
He hurried over and sat down behind it on the cold floor. Green followed wordlessly and sat down with him.  
  
And listened.  
  
He was told the story of wars about a country called L'Manburg. A story about friends and family on opposing sides, separated by ideals and forced to fight each other over them. Of betrayal and hurt and more betrayal. And of a final battle against a common enemy.  
  
He was told the story of a bloodthirsty maniac, with way too much power at the tip of his fingers, than could ever be good for him. A coldblooded psychopath, who thrived in chaos and found satisfaction only in the pain and loss of others.  
  
He really wished that it was nothing more than that. _A story_.  
  
But he knew it to be true.  
  
He recalled the events as they were told to him. He could fill in plans and reasons with memories that weren't his, seen from the point of view and the mind of someone he couldn't remember ever being.  
  
But he had been that, had done this.

That was fact, how else would he be able to remember, if he _weren't_ the one who had done those things.  
  
_He_ was the one who brought war and ultimately pointless destruction to all these people. (- _family. They had been **family**. He **knew** these people! He remembered them, why why why did he **do this**_ -)  
  
  
  
_Dream was **him**_.  
  
...this was _his fault_.  
  
Green (- _Dream, **you** **are** **Dream** , you did this to **yourself**_ -) didn't want to get back up. Probably couldn't if he tried, with all these revelations and memories weighing down on him.  
It really hadn't been his plan when he came here, to spend his day with finding out and processing that he was a _fucking_ _monster_.  
  
Ghostbur had left some time ago, as Dream (- _yes, that’s **you**_ -) had waved him off mechanically and thanked him for his help. He had told the other, that he had found what he was looking for and wouldn't be sticking around for much longer anyway, so Ghostbur should be on his way again.  
  
(- _in truth, he absolutely hadn't, he just wanted to be alone. He actually didn't feel anymore **whole** than before. Quite the opposite. More like he had ben gutted and left raw and bleeding for all to see-_)  
  
The ghost had left only reluctantly, going on about it ' _always making everyone upset_ ', and had handed him some small light blue rocks, insisting he ' _have some blue_ '.  
  
So there he was now.  
Sitting in the growing shadows of the museum pillars, pocketing some stupid blue rocks and wanting nothing more than for everything to just _make sense_ or finally be over or be anything at all but how it was-  
  
This _couldn't_ have been what he had come here for.  
  
He wasn't finished here. He wasn't.

Shouldn’t he have maybe- _vanished_ _into_ _thin_ _air_ by now or something like that if he had accomplished his goal?  
  
He sighed. _Welp..._  
  
Ghostbur would for sure have told someone else about that nosy green ghost he had found near the Community House by now, so just looking around in the open was absolutely not an option anymore.  
(- _and if he couldn't face the others before, no way in **hell** could he even hope to **look them in the eyes** now_-)  
  
He got up eventually and wandered around the area, always staying close to trees or walls and never in the open.  
  
What else was he to do really. He didn't know what was missing, and he had no idea what he was still expecting to change about that.  
  
But he also couldn't bring himself to leave.

Something bound him to this place, the towers, the houses, the wooden pathways and all the other strange structures. (- _but it's never really about the **places** , he knew that now_-)  
  
Things had changed around here compared to the memories, that still felt more like someone else’s. (- _they’re yours alright. That was you you **you**_ -)  
  
It seemed so much more _alive_ somehow.  
It were small things, like a flower patch with a tree, or some lanterns near the path, that bathed the whole area in a soft glow the lower the sun moved.  
There were more noticeable things, like whole new houses or charming buildings and huge structures, or a new path and a crater left from _something_ , that had been patched up.  
  
It looked beautiful. _Complete_.  
  
Nothing was amiss here, was there?  
He found himself wondering, if it had really only taken himself to be gone for a few month, for this whole place to thrive like it had.

Maybe that had been the key to it all...  
  
It was completely dark by now, the sun having disappeared long ago without his notice, and he had seen something going on in the far corner of somewhere further down the path he hadn't been to yet.  
  
The lights were far more brighter and colourful over there and he could make out the distant sound of chatter and laughter and faint music.  
  
He left what seemed like a base build into a grassy hill (- _Tommy's base if the memories served him right_ -) behind, and made his way along the path, down a long flight of wooden stairs, drawn in by the commotion.  
  
What came into view, surprisingly, didn't trigger as violent a reaction as it had last time.  
  
Because, unsurprisingly, there were people there.  
And they were having what seemed like a festival of some kind.  
  
He could recognise the place vaguely as the rebuild L’Manburg, with the water filled crater and the houses and paths on stilts just barely visible.

But he couldn't recall it ever being this big, nor this lively.  
  
Houses and other builds had spread out to just about where the stairs he sat on, formed into path again. The place was densely pack and look like a real village of it’s own from above, with shops and cobbled streets and littered with small patches of flowers and bushes or trees.  
  
And on the wide platform directly above the crater, there were stands and tables with food, and everything was lit up with colourful chains of paper lanterns and decorated with plenty of banners donning the flag of L’Manburg.  
  
And what was probably _everyone_ from all around the whole SMP, some he couldn’t even recall ever seeing before, were there.

It was such an unbelievably tranquil and _happy_ picture of this place, seeing all of them enjoying themselves and each others company, that he could hardly connect it all with the things from his memories.  
  
Those people had waged war against each other, on the very soil they now laughed and danced upon.  
  
...And it _stung_.

Somehow it stung, and he couldn't even come up with a plausible reason as to _why_ it did so painfully.  
  
Those people wouldn't miss Dream (- _him, they wouldn’t miss **you**_ -), of course they wouldn't.

And why should they?  
There was, quite frankly, no reason to _not_ outright celebrate him being gone.  
(- _maybe they were. Wouldn't that just be peak fucking **irony**? Him coming here on the exact day they celebrated his death, how **absolutely hilarious**_ -)  
  
They probably weren't though. He didn't matter to these people anymore, and he _shouldn't_.

 _He didn’t._  
  
He could make out what should be Tommy and Tubbo amongst the crowd, cheering and dancing without a care in the world to a song played by Ghostbur.  
  
There was Techno, off to the side with Phil and some other lanky, black and white hybrid, watching the teens and laughing amongst themselves.  
  
Eret with Fundy and Niki with a sheep hybrid he couldn’t remember the name of, were sat around a table filled with food and singing along very off tune, barely able to keep from completely dissolving into giggles.  
  
He recognised Punz and Sam, together with Ant, Skeppy and Bad further in the back. Jack, Quackity, Purpled, Ponk.

 _Everyone_ and _then some_ was there, and they were having a great time.  
  
He paused when his eyes landed on Karl who was leaning against a railing and talking with...  
Sapnap. And next to them George.  
  
They were both grinning brightly, the happiest and most relaxed he could ever remember having seen them.  
  
  


...And suddenly it was as if a physical weight, one he hadn't noticed was there, until it was _gone_ , had lifted of his chest.

  
Suddenly he could _breath_ freely in what felt like forever, and probably _was_.  
  
  
  
They were safe, and _they_ _were_ **_happy_**.

 _All of them_.  
  
And they did not need him for that.  
  
  
  
None of them would even notice him sitting here right now. Maybe that's why he wasn't worried about being seen.  
  
It didn't matter either way.  
  


  
He'd found what he'd come here for, and wasn’t supposed to be here any longer.  
  
  
  
Without another thought, he got up, turned around, and didn't look back once as he returned, alone once more to the dark, endless nothingness outside of the SMP. (- _just like the first time_ -)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really fighting me tooth and nail istg  
> Characterization of a canon character, dialog, locations of the SMP...oof not too comfortable with those but hoping I did alright 
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed and some feedback or criticism would be appreciated very much <3  
> (it's only going down hill from here...)
> 
> Also, just noticed: 10k words let's gooo!


	6. 'cause we've all made mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in light of recent events on the dream smp, I think this chapter fits quite nicely...

There is blood running down his face.  
  
  
  
It's moving uncomfortably slow, making it's way over his forehead, dripping along his brow, into his eyes, and down the rest of his face.  
  
  
  
He is hyper aware of it moving, and that he can't do anything about it.  
  
_It's starting to seriously piss him off._  
  
  
  
Dream's pretty sure that there are at least another three openly bleeding wounds on his face alone.  
  
Two near his hairline, where razor sharp blades had just barely caught on his mask, and had taken only hair instead of flesh.  
And one growing bruise on his cheek, where skin had given out, had torn open, beneath weapon hilts that had hit a little too hard for his liking.  
  
There is also blood flowing out of his probably broken nose, he can feel that as well.  
  
He can taste it even.  
  
  
  
The coppery, awfully familiar taste of his own blood in his mouth, on his tongue, staining his teeth.  
  
  
  
He'd make a pretty gruesome picture, he imagines.

But as it stands, nobody could be the judge of that anyway.  
All they can see are dark lines on a white surface, forming the lifeless impression of a smiling face.  
  
  
  
As it stands, the blood is pooling at the rim under his mask that still rest snugly over his face, as always.  
It's a disadvantage now that he's bleeding as much as he is. The thick liquid has nowhere to go, and instead, is gathering at his chin and gushing out in disgusting, uncomfortable currents every time he moves to speak.  
  
Combining that with the cracks spider webbing across his mask where someone’s sword had definitely carved a clean chunk out of the smile, he's pretty sure that he makes a terrifying figure to face down.  
  
  
  
Yet, none of them seemed to fear him in this moment.  
  
The only one trembling is himself, actually.  
  
(- _it's the adrenaline wearing off, he tells himself. It's the pain registering, the wounds now starting to sting in earnest, and nothing more_ -)  
  
  
  
Though, admittedly, he’s too far away to tell for sure.

He knows, he would be able to tell, if his vision wouldn’t be blurred by a red haze, courtesy of his own blood.  
  
(- _right, that’s just his blood blurring his eyes. Nothing else. What else would it be? Why would he be crying, there is absolutely no reason, that'd be **pathetic** and **weak**_ -)  
  
  
  
Still, he’s pretty confident in his assessment there. No trembling whatsoever.

He can tell by their flawless aim and accuracy, that they aren’t shaking.  
  
Every swing was sure. Steady.  
  
Every shot true. Hitting it's mark, if he failed to dodge.  
  
  
  
They were not trembling, no.  
  
They weren’t scared.  
  
  
  
Not this time, not when they were all together like this.  
United and staring down a common enemy.  
  
(- _and wasn't that a beautiful picture? Rows of netherite armor and weapons, gleaming intimidatingly with enchantments and the light of the evening sun,_ _casting golden beams through evergreen branches_ _-_ )  
  
  
  
They looked like the embodiment of victory. United, strong.  
Backs against the castles walls, with the backdrop of a dramatic sunset throwing the sky into all shades of orange, pink and morphing into a fiery red near the horizon.  
  
  
Opposite of that, himself. Trembling, exhausted, panting.  
Standing at the foot of the hill, barely able to support his own weight, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from falling over at this point.  
  
(- _he can’t afford to back down, can’t give in, don't you **dare** show any **weakness**_ -)  
  


Anger rises up his throat, scorching and sudden and equally as disgusting as his own blood.

_He will not give in._ _  
  
_

  
"You don't wanna do this."  
  
He lilts with a chuckle, low and breathy and threatening.  
  
It's one last attempt at intimidation, and it seems to works for some.  
  
  
  
Tommy actively flinches, but the tip of his sword is lifted higher, expression _furious_.  
Techno, standing behind him, lays a firm steadying hand on his shoulder, gaze never leaving Dream.  
  
  
  
"You don't _really_ want to do this."  
  
He repeats louder this time when no one else reacts.  
  
  
None of them move. Nobody budges.  
  
There’s only his own voice, carried with the wind. Other than that, one could hear a needle drop in the utter silence that hangs over the path.  
  
  
  
"You don't know what you're doing..."  
  
He tries again, same tone of voice, but he can’t help but start to feel desperate, so maybe it comes out a bit more hysteric and a lot less threatening than intended.  
  
(- _they can't do this. They can not **seriously** do this! Who do they **think** **they are?!** They can't **do this!**_ -)  
  
  
  
He is searching their expressions and body language almost frantically now, trying to find any point of weakness. He’s shifting from one person to another, looking them in the eyes, searching, even if they can’t tell.  
  
Just cold, hard stares and disdained snarls meet him.

No weakness.  
  
They won’t grand him any sort of edge.  
  
  
  
He breathes a low and lazy laugh again, loosens his posture with effort from it's defensive hunch and spreads out the arm not holding his axe invitingly.  
  
(- _ever the show man, isn’t he? It won't work this time though, not anymore_ -)  
  
  
  
"You can't just-" he chuckles once more, almost involuntary. It’s not a friendly noise and worlds away from what a laugh is actually supposed to sound like.  
  
"T-this is my land!-" no, that’s too much emotion, way too close to what he’s feeling. He had stuttered, and he _can’t do that._  
He needs to calm down if he hopes to gain any control whatsoever over this situation, and _right fucking now_.

(- _look for a way out, there has to be **something** , because giving in is not an option here_-)

  
He tilts his piercing gaze to Punz and Sam, both meeting the empty smile of his mask impassively.  
  


  
"Punz." he implores, an edge to his voice. Like a warning. A threat.  
  
Punz doesn't flinch, but Dream thinks he saw his expression twitch at least, for just a second.  
Still, no help to be found there.  
  
"Sam, come on..." self-assured, casual, like he knows Sam’s only joking.

Because Sam and him had never been on any real bad terms. Sam had build him the prison after all.  
  
But this isn't about personal relationships anymore...  
  
So Sam doesn't react either, just shifts the grip on his axe.  
  
  
  
Dream’s getting real desperate now. Panicked.  
And that's not good, _not good at all_ , but surely they wouldn't _really- they can't just-_ _  
_  
  
  
"This is just stupid, guys, come on, I know you know this..."  
  
He has to try one last time, friendlier, more open, cooperative even.

  
He finds the eyes of both Sapnap and George respectively (- _last chance, but he knows that they won’t, that ship has long since sailed and he **let it**_ -), and shifts his head their way.  
  
"Sapnap...? George..." he calls, almost gently and way too close to _vulnerable_.  
  
(- _it’s almost a whisper, he’s pleading. But he won’t ever admit such a weakness to himself, because Dream **does not** **fucking** **plead** for **anything**_ -)  
  


  
"You- You don't want me to-"  
  
He takes a step forward, arms spread, and George's bow is aimed higher. Level with his head, string pulled taut.  
  
Several other crossbows and bows are also aimed the same way in an instance. He stops immediately, finally lowering his arm.  
  
  
  
They won't budge. None of them.  
  


  
This. Is over.  
  
  
  
He lowers his head like a disappointed parent, quite, bitter laughter shaking his unstable frame.

This is over.

  
"You're going to _regret_ this." he seethes at the ground through bloody teeth, shaking his head.  
  
Lifting his head back up, he straightens his shoulders, body held as tense and imposing as he can manage.  
  
Trying to look every inch as threatening, unshakable and _untouchable_ as he always had.

Trying his hardest to be the picture of that invincible deity everyone had always feared him as.

(- _show, nothing but show, this won't achieve anything, not anymore, who are you trying to fool_ -)  
  


  
And he knows it doesn't work, not when he looks like he does right now, not after what had happened.

They aren’t dumb enough to fall for it anymore.  
  
  
Still, he glares at the crowd, hoping they feel his burning _hatred_ through the mask.  
(- _now that's just untrue, and besides, how could they feel it, if it isn’t even really directed at them? But he can’t think about that now_ -)  
  
  
  
"This isn't over." he promises with a growl, knows it's a lie before he even said it.  
  
"We're not _done_ _here_!" he nearly yells.

(- _no, that's too much feeling, calm down, you need to control_ -)  
  


  
But he knows they are. They’re finished here.

And he's only lying to himself when he says this, is awfully aware of it actually, just like the fucking blood _still_ running down his face, coating the inside of his mask, _still fucking itching-_

  
This is over now, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it, and _still, he won’t fucking back down_ -  
  


  
He has no control over any of this anymore, and if he keeps this up, he _knows_ he will also lose that last shred of _sanity_ he’s currently clinging to-  
  
  


  
"You should leave now, Dream. We don't have all day."  
  
Ice-cold, emotionless, and he can’t place who said it, even glaring at the crowd like he was, but he can't _focus_ anymore.

They're all just morphing together, a sea of dark, purple gleaming, armed bodies, keeping him from _his goddamn land_ -  
  
(- _but it's not though, has never been, and why had he ever even wanted to claim it as such in the first place_ -)  
  


  
He takes a first step back, almost trips over his own feet in the process.  
  
(- _fucking christ!- don't you dare trip, you can't fucking **afford** to stumble_-)  
  
  
  
And he stands there, frozen for a moment longer, looking at them one final time, searching with his eyes, _pleading_ -  
  
  
  
And he turns around.

(- ** _no_** _, you can’t afford to do that, you can't just turn your back to them, don't take you're eyes of the **enemy**_ -)

  
He starts walking, taking slow, heavy steps. The few remaining pieces of his netherite armor that are still hanging onto his form scraping against each other.

(- ** _no, NO!_** _You can't back down, can’t give **in** , you can't **let them win**_ -)  
  


  
But, _God_ , everything hurts.

Every damn step is a chore, aggravating every single _cut_ and _tear_ and _bruise_ -

  
Dream had known, that there were some _very_ deep cuts on his left arm and thigh that have been bleeding steadily for the past thirty minutes _at least_ , but he hadn’t _really felt_ _them_ , until now.  
  
But he figures, if he hasn’t passed out yet, those can wait until he's at least out of their line of view.

  
Though he's not quite sure about that anymore, when his vision is tilting and dangerously fuzzy all of a sudden, but he can’t tell if it's the blood loos or his legs shaking from pain and exhaustion.  
  
He takes a particularly bad step, puts weight on his right ankle, which he now recalls is sprained at the minimum, and almost falls face first right then and there as his vision _goes_ _white_ for a second.  
  
He stops, concentrates on his raged, wet breathing, but doesn’t dare to move a muscle otherwise.  
  
Because, he's _still too close_ _to them_ , hasn't come far at all, in fact.  
  


  
He can't stop, can't rest, can’t show any _fucking weakness you pathetic-_  
  


  
He takes another step, puts weight on the ankle-  
  
(- _and don't you dare **limp** , don't fucking **stumble** , keep you're back straight, don't show weakness- don't be **so fucking weak and pitiful**_ -)  
  
-and maybe almost breaks a tooth, he’s biting down so hard, as it flares in pain again, but he keeps walking with no change in posture at all.

(- _good, this is not over, he will come back and he will make them all **pay** for this, because they can't **do that** , how **dare they**_ -)  
  
  
  
He has no idea how long it takes him to actually leave for good, but it's completely dark by the time he can process anything other than _pain_.  
  
He’s outright limping now, having given up on all pretense of any sort of _strength_.  
  
  
  
Monsters will be coming out soon, he can hear them already.  
  
Dream kind of wants to lie down, kind of wants to cry maybe, let them take him or whatever because he just wants to _stop for once_ -  
  
  


  
He doesn't though, can’t just drown himself in _self-pity, for fuck’s sake-_

Briefly, he wonders what is keeping him going at this point, what is even holding him _upright_ anymore.  
  
  
His pride, probably.

His ego, or his anger maybe.  
  


He wants to laugh at that, maybe also cry a little.  
  


  
  
He doesn't though.

(- _he can’t, you have to **fight** because this is **not** over yet and it **never** will be until his **last fucking breath** -)_  
  


  
No, instead, he just keeps on walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time again!
> 
> Now, only one last chapter to go... ;)


	7. searching for a darker place to hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: pretty graphic description of a dead body, heavy themes of suicide, unreliable narrator (just tread carefully...)

He snapped out of his trance once he found himself standing surrounded by head high grass.  
  
The long distance to and from the SMP always seemed to do that to him, when countless minutes and hours merged together with every new step.  
  
Staring upwards, it was completely dark, the starry sky blending into the tall weeds swishing lazily in the nights breeze.  
It was hard for him to make out where one of the two ended and the other started...  
  
All around him, it was eerie quiet, almost surreally so.

So much unlike the first time he had woken up here.  
  
Those moments felt like such simpler times now, so far out of reach...  
  
He looked unblinkingly at a bright, full moon.  
  
It had been night when he had left this time as well, hadn't it?  
Or was that during the first time he had left everything behind?  
He thinks of dark shimmering armor, set aglow by golden sunbeams, a sky the color of spilled blood and a feeling like having his ribs cracks open, so he can't be sure about that anymore...  
  
Was it still night now, or is it just night again?  
The stars above seemed so similar, like he had gazed up at the same constellations hundreds of nights before...  
  
But he knew better than to trust any of the thought and memories floating around in his head by now.  
  
Everything he had thought he once knew was nothing more than a jumbled mess in his mind at this point.  
  
Too many flimsy scenarios, delicate and fragile as a butterfly wing, with next to no coherence or meaning had started to flood his head the farther he distanced himself from... _them_.  
  
Pictures, too fuzzy to make out anything in them for sure, felt like watching a dream or maybe a nightmare passing him by behind thick foggy glass.  
They brought forth emotions so intense and diverse, he had stopped trying to decipher them, instead simply letting them drown out all and everything else.  
  
Worst part was, that he knew they technically belonged to him, but try as he might, none ever felt like they did.  
He wasn't the person that had lived through them.  
  
...and just maybe, that wasn't so bad.  
  
He had privately decided that considering what some of the memories were, it was probably for the best even.  
  
Still though, he was Dream, Dream was him, and Dream had been a terrible person.  
So he had reasoned, all this was most likely some more twisted sort of punishment from the universe for all the bad things Dream had done.  
  
Agreeing with that reasoning however, didn't mean he particularly enjoyed having his mind in utter shambles and disarray, not being able to separate imagination from experience or dream or anything else really.  
  
Every time he tried it felt like grasping at mist.  
Nothing ever solid and certain, but at the same everything he could hope for just a hairsbreadth away, but ultimately out of his reach.  
  
  
  
Justified as it may be, he absolutely loathed it.  
  
  
  
In the end, that didn't matter though.  
  
Really, nothing he ever wanted or did mattered. At least that was one of the only things he knew from experience.  
  
He knew that to be true.  
  
  
  
Because he had been brought into existence as the literal embodiment of one mans regrets and guilt.  
From his first moment of consciousness, he was forced to fulfill any and all last wishes of a bloodthirsty, merciless and cruel person.  
  
And if he would have had any choice in any of this at all, he would have not even granted his dead self this much.  
  
He did not _deserve_ that much.  
  
  
  
But here he was still, back where it had all started and he was still just as insignificant and pointless in his existence as ever.  
  
So really, what if it had hurt him like losing a limb having to leave friends that weren't even his behind once more?  
So what, if he was angry at being lost in all those emotions, also not belonging to him, and was desperately tying to keep them inside, not even knowing where they were still coming from?  
So what if he wanted nothing more than to lay down and curl up on the ground right now, praying everything would just go away-  
  
_So fucking what_?  
  
  
  
Nothing he wanted ever mattered.  
  
He was here simply because he _had_ to be.  
  
(- _the only hope he was currently clinging to was, that when he had done everything he was supposed to do he would maybe finally, **finally** be released of all these burdens and he would then simply vanish from the earths surface, there and gone, and not having changed a single thing_-)  
  
  
  
Shaking his head out of his thoughts, he followed his gut and made his way through the blades in the direction of the cabin stood not too far from here.  
  
Walking into the clearing again, the wooden structure seemed all the more lonely and abandoned now for some reason.  
Almost sad looking and so incredibly small and unimportant beneath the endless sea of stars and darkness looming above.  
  
He approached the shack steadily, determined.  
  
He had a job to do.  
  
  
  
Standing on the porch however, he felt his resolve and the hand on the door handle wavering, as he caught the first whiffs of what awaited him inside.  
  
He wanted to gag already and he hadn't even opened the door yet.  
  
_Dear_ _God_ , this was going to be a fucking nightmare, wasn't it.  
  
Turning his head, he took a couple deep, clean breathes, shifted the rim of his hood over both nose and mouth, held it in place with his free hand, and opened the door.  
  
He left it wide open and hurried over to the nearest window as quickly as he could, trying to breath as little as possible through his mouth.  
Items that were still laying scattered on the floor of the scarcely lit room almost tripped him up multiple times on his way.  
  
He fumbled with the poorly visible latch, and grit his teeth as he failed to get a grip, the rusty thing refusing to come loose.  
  
It was getting harder to only take shallow gasps when his lungs started to demanded he breath normally the longer he took, but the latch was still stuck and _damn it_ he neither had the time nor the _patience_ _for this right now_ -  
  
He reared back, lifted his foot and brought it down onto the latch as hard as he could, until he felt even the weathered wood give under his boots.  
  
Shoving the now unlocked part up with a grunt, glass pane rattling frighteningly, he stuck his head out the opened window.  
  
Deep gulps of clean air filled his lungs, and he slowly relaxed the death grip he hadn't noticed his fingers had on the window frame.  
He needed to concentrate on his breathing for a few moments longer than the situation would probably have warranted.  
  
The other two windows on either side of the front door were next, which would then hopefully suffice to air the shack out enough to breath freely and let some moonlight into the place as well.  
  
After his first failed attempt, he didn't even try opening the latches normally on either of the windows now.  
He just yanked back the curtains, stomped on the metal mechanism until it broke and then slid the creaky glass panes up.  
  
...or well, glass pane.  
The second of the two had shattered after he brought his foot down for the fourth time with a little too much force on the already broken latch.  
  
He couldn’t find it himself to really care though, tiny shards crunching between the floor and his shoes. It was however dully noted that he was breathing a bit too labored for such relatively effortless tasks.  
  
But the room was finally more alight due to the weak glow of the moon coming through opened windows, and the worst of this rotten stench was already beginning to fade.  
Those were the important things.  
  
That done, he left through the still opened door and walked around the cabin to the small gardening area he had stumbled upon during his time here. He thought it to be as good a spot as any to dig the grave.  
What tiny patch of vegetables had remained looked pretty wilted and sad as he grabbed at the iron spade leaned against the wall amongst some other gardening tools.  
  
No time at all seemed to pass between the metal first hitting the dirt at his feet and him standing inside a waist-high hole in the ground, a bit larger in size than the original garden.  
His bare arms and the cloak were streaked with dust, grime having gathered under his fingernails, the comm screen smeared with dirt.  
  
He heaved himself out on slightly trembling arms and thrust the spade into the mixed pile of unearthed soil and ruined vegetables underneath that.  
Staring down it the shallow hole, the full moon still standing high in the night sky and bathing the scene in a cold blue glow, he decided it would have to do.  
  
The rotten smell sat far less suffocating in the main room when he returned inside the cabin.  
  
He figured he would need something to...cut the rope with, so he rummaged through the few drawers of some cabinets.  
  
A small, sharp knife was eventually slipped into one of the sheaths on his belt.  
  
His eyes had caught on milky white shards that had remained laying on the kitchen table gathering dust, and after a moment, he pocketed them as well.  
  
He approached the door in the far corner with a sick feeling of déjà vu worming its way into his guts.  
  
It had truly been to much to ask for, to not have to face this again, it seemed.  
  
Shifting his hood over both mouth and nose again with the hand holding the knife, he took one last, foul breath, that failed rather miserably to be steadying  
  


  
and opened the door.  
  
  
  


  
The air inside felt like walking against a brick wall.  
  
His already watering eyes were kept firmly on the ground in front of his feet, every limb frozen in place, stomach dropping down to his knees.  
  
He really rather not look up and see this.  
  
Besides, the sound of a dozen insects buzzing around in the otherwise utter silence, coupled with a stench that was somehow so much worse than anticipated, paint a pretty decent picture of what he knew was hanging in front of him.  
  
Coppery rotten flesh could be practically _tasted_ in the oppressive, suffocating air despite his best efforts of covering his airways. He had to actively fight the urge to turn tail and run and never return.  
  
God, did he regret leaving it just hanging here all this time ago.  
It must have been at least more than a week, and _it showed_.  
  
_Too late for that now though_.  
  
He knew there was no getting around this, he had to do this, and better to do it sooner rather than later.  
  
  
  
He forced stiff legs to cooperate, getting closer to the form rotting on the ceiling step by reluctant step.  
  
Tiny flies feeding on the dead meet kept frequently hitting the exposed skin of his arms, as he reached up to try and feel blindly for the rope with the hand not covering his face.  
  
The buzzing noises seemed to grow more grating and unbearable with every second that ticked by.  
  
He nearly flinched away as his hand suddenly found what he assumed was once a head of blond hair, now greasy and mushy and oddly wet in places and _God_ -  
  
_Fuck_ -!  
  
- _don't think about it too much_.  
  
He kept his trembling fingers just barely hovering near the head.  
  
Shuffling further down along the neck, painfully aware of the sticky textures brushing by under his fingertips, he finally touched what he recognized as the base of the rope.  
  
He brought up the hand clutching the knife and began to cut away at it, unfortunately having no other choice but to let go of the hood covering his face in the process.  
He promptly turning his head away, eyes screwing shut and struggling to keep breathing through his mouth as the smell of decay hit him harder still.  
  
Worse still, to get a steady grip on the rope, he had to stand on his tiptoes, his own body inching even closer to the form hanging in front of him, nearly touching it with his own chest.  
  
Breathing growing heavy and labored, he felt his heart hammering in his ears, his eyes stinging and watering still, but he just kept on frantically sawing at the rope with shaking hands.  
  
It felt like an eternity, having to stand so close to it, trying to only focus on the sawing motion and breathing through it mouth and _not thinking about it-_  
  
  
  
All of a sudden the last thread snapped, body dropping down, directly onto himself.  
  
  
  
He had no idea how he managed to not drop it, startled as he was, and remain standing on his own to feet all the while.  
  
The knife was dropped to the floor as reflex kicked in and he hasted to grab onto whatever he could  
  
His fingers dug into unnaturally soft flesh, trying to get a grip, the fabric in-between becoming soaking wet and sticky in seconds.  
  
He manhandled the unbalanced weigh around and eventually managed to slump it over his shoulder.  
A chocked, strangled noise sounded in his throat as something dripped on his cloak, down his shoulder and back and drenched the fabric down to his skin.  
  
He _really_ , **_really_** tried not to think about it.  
  
So instead, he stumbled of the room with the added weight, down the porch and straight to the garden, ungracefully dumping the body legs first in the hole as soon as he was able to.  
It landed with a disgusting squelching sound, insects that had been disturbed by the fall swarming up in small clouds.  
  
  
  
Tripping backwards, his knees buckling underneath him, he landed onto his elbows in the grass.  
  
He was staring blankly and horrified near the edge of the hole.  
  
  
  
It was a real struggle he noticed to keep breathing, as his lungs sized up suddenly and he started to alternate between violently coughing and gasping and gagging  
  
He rolled over, leaned to the side, firsts white knuckled on the grass, and braced himself on an outstretched arm.  
He was certain, he would've emptied his entire stomach right then and there had he not been a ghost, which didn't actually consume food.  
  
His body did its best to simulate the feeling of throwing up anyway.  
  
His vision was swimming slightly, wet streaks running down his face.  
  
He was shaking, and still struggling to get a halfway decent breath into his airways as he just kept on forcefully retching nothing into the grass of to the side.  
  
He couldn't _handle this_.  
  
This was _beyond_ fucked up and he just _could not deal with any of this anymore_.  
  
  
  
And still.  
  
  
  
He needed to get up.  
  
He needed to _keep going_.  
  
  
  
He wasn't finished here.  
  
And if he maybe could just get this last thing done already, all of it would be over.  
  
He needed to get it together and he couldn't afford to cry or scream or even _think about the rancid smell coming of his cloak right now or the gore covering both of his hands and running down his back_ -  
  
  
  
It took a moment to compose himself, even if just slightly.  
With some effort, to got himself into a halfway upright sitting position with arms shivering like crazy.  
He had to use the cabin wall for support to even stand up at all.  
  
As soon as he was on decently steady feet, he hurried to get the cloak off, the sticky wet sensation on his back becoming unbearable for even a moment longer  
He just so caught a glimpse of the large, dark stain near the hood that spread further from there down the back, before the ruined fabric was hurled directly into the open grave.  
  
  
  
He took a second to breath in deeply through his nose, wanting- _needing_ to calm down.  
  
His eyes were firmly kept on the edge of the hole in front of him.  
  
  
  
_Breath in, breath out_. He needed to _focus_.  
  
He had done it, the worst part was over.  
  
_Breath_.  
  
Just one thing left to do, _come on now_.  
  
  
  
He carefully made his way around the hole on still very shaky legs, reached for the spade still stuck in the soil, his trembling hands going ignored for now, and began mechanically shoveling the dirt on top of the crumbled fabric and the thing rotting under it at the bottom.  
  
In the end, the grave was rather crude looking, more like a badly plowed field with the odd bits of plant sticking about the freshly turned earth.  
  
He was struck with an idea as he looked over at the cabin wall, eyes landing on a particularly weathered plank.  
  
Bracing on foot besides it, he yanked at the wood with all the strength he had left. It broke off with little resistance.  
  
The plank was broken again after that into two uneven parts. He snatched a small coil of scratchy rope from between the gardening tools and wound it around the two pieces in a crisscross pattern, securing them together.  
  
The makeshift cross was not half bad, as he shoved it into the top end of the grave, which could at least now be recognized as such.  
  
Alongside it, he arranged the white shards and the blue stones, that had still been inside his belt pockets.  
  
After another moment of consideration, he took off his arm bracer.

  
He wiped the dirt from its dim screen, _'home'_ staring back up at him one last time as he lay the bracer besides the other items.  
  
  
  
It felt final.  
  
It felt like letting go.  
  
  
  
And even so, this didn't feel like accomplishment In the slightest.  
  
  
  
It should have felt relieving at least, he thinks, doing this final task, knowing it would be the last thing he ever did.  
  
He had thought it would feel satisfying, peaceful, to finally finish what he was brought into this world to do.  
  
He did what he was supposed to, so he was sure this would be it.  
  
  
  
And yet, as kept on crouching near the cross, staring down on the white mask reflecting the lights of the night sky, he felt hollow.  
  
His skin felt itchy, body restless, agitated, fingers tensing around his cold, cold biceps as he gripped his bare arms in the night breeze.  
  
The feeling only got worse the longer he waited, alone with himself and thoughts that still didn't really belong to him.  
  
  
  
And nothing happened.  
  
  
  
No vanishing with the winds, no sort of 'rest' that he had been convinced would be given to him.  
  
  
  
_Nothing_.  
  
  
  
  
  
...In those moments, the privately cultivated loathing for his whole situation and for the foreign memories and emotions still clogging up his mind,  
all of the still unanswered questions he had for someone already long dead,  
and the overwhelming amount of piled up anger and guilt and blame all condensed inside his chest and boiled down to nothing but burning hot rage.  
  
" ** _What_**?!" he suddenly _screamed_ at the broken mask.  
The explosive accusation kind of surprised even himself.  
  
"What the _fuck_ do you still _**want**_?!" he sprung up, throwing his arms out to his side, shoulder trembling with barely repressed emotions.  
  
It was unreasonably, he knew, it wouldn’t do anything since he was literally yelling at an inanimate object, but he was just so damn frustrated and _tired and overall done_ -  
  
"This- This is not fucking _fair_! Ho-How is _any of this_ fair anymore?!"  
  
He felt like a child throwing a tantrum, he felt _stupid_.  
But also... justified somehow. Because he just could not to this anymore and he deserved to get some rest at least.  
  
Right?  
  
"I-I did _everything_ I was supposed to, didn't I?! I did what you fucking wanted, I went to, to L'Manburg, to see the people _you_ _terrorized_ and-" he hiccupped, having forgotten to breath.  
He was pacing now, and sobbing, he noticed, and he was _hurt_ and _furious_ -  
"a-and I buried your _rotting corpse_ , I dug my own grave that I- that you don't even _deserve in the first place_ , and still- I-"  
He cut off with another gasp, swiping once at the tears obscuring his vision.  
  
He took a shuddering breath.  
  
  
  
" _why am I still here_...?"  
  
  
  
He looked and sounded absolutely wrecked, glaring at the grave, like it would give him any answers.  
  
With a wordless shout, both his hands clamped into his hair and pulled painfully at the roots as he continued pacing around the soil.  
  
  
  
Hadn't he paid enough for all of the horrible things Dream did by now?!

Things he hadn't even done in the first place!  
  
  
  
And that was exactly the thing that riled him up so much about this in the first place: Dream had done all of it and Dream has been dead for _weeks_ now!  
  
Every single memory of friendly faces or bloodied blades or contagious laughter or crushing guilt, _none of it was his_.  
  
He hadn't experienced _any of it_.  
  
Those people his mind insisted were friends and family weren't his own.  
  
**_Nothing_** _of it was!_  
  
  
  
And it was so unfair, because he wanted some of those things so bad, he wanted to have something be his _own_ for once but **this** couldn't be it but he never even got a say in any of it and it _wasn't fucking fair_!  
  
Why was he the one hurting _still_ and Dream-  
  
  
  
"Why do _you_ get to just walk away from all of this and leave _me_ with the broken pieces, huh?!" he seethed at the ground.  
  
He envied Dream in a twisted sort of way, and hated him with every fiber of his none corporal body at the same damn time.  
  
He had enough of Dream's memories now to tell he wasn't only the monster Ghostbur had portrayed him as. Dream had had his reasons, twisted as some of them were, but he wasn't inherently ill intended with his actions.  
  
Not to say his actions weren't disastrous but this wasn't the point right now.  
  
  
  
What made him absolutely fucking despise Dream was the fact, that in the end, he had took the _easy_ way out of it all.  
  
  
  
…and had willed him into existence in the process to be left alone with the fallout.  
  
He was not willing to just _suck it up_ any long.  
  
  
  
His chest heaved up and down as he whirled on the grave once more.  
"You know, you didn't even fucking _try_ to fix this!"  
  
One of his hands released its death grip, pointing an accusing finger, gesturing wildly.  
  
"You _could have taken that **chance**_ , to try and make things _right_ somehow, but you _didn't even try to!_ A-and now I'm here and _I'm_ supposed to do it _for you_ or what?! Am I just some last-ditch attempt at redemption for you, or something, because you decided playing the _martyr_ or whatever would be _fucking **convenient**?!_"  
  
He was straight up venting all of his emotions at this point, and he had a feeling he wasn't being entirely fair, screaming at and blaming a dead man for everything bad that had happened during his existence, but he was long past caring and nothing was going to get better through this anyway…  
  
Walking and ranting however took a lot out of him in his already drained state and he was hit by a heavy wave of exhaustion all of a sudden. He slumped against a wall, knees growing weak, feet sliding forward just besides the blue rocks as he sat down next to the grave.  
  
He drew his legs up, resting his elbows on them, dirty fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head.  
  
"...I'm not _fixing this for you_." he hissed at no one in particular.  
  
  
  
He didn't know how long exactly he was sat there for, brooding in his thoughts, blaming Dream and being upset.  
  
By the time he eventually relaxed his curled up position, birds could be heard waking up in the treetops and the forest around him was a noticeably lighter shade of gray.  
  
  
  
Was he _himself_ maybe being unfair right now?  
  
  
  
Truthfully, he had no idea what Dream might have been thinking during his last moments.  
  
Had he truly just ran away from everything, not wanting to face the repercussions?  
  


  
Were there other things involved?  
  


  
Maybe he was piecing the snippets of memory together wrong and he had build up another false image of who Dream was.

Who could tell for sure by now?  
  
  
  
He sighed, leaning his head back, bumping it against the wood.  
He looked up into the lighter-growing cloudless sky above.  
  
"I guess... I-I don't actually now you as much as I'd like to believe I do." he chuckled humorlessly.  
"Maybe I'm being a hypocrite and I'm just as bad as you..."  
  
  
  
After all, he had ran away as well. For the second time, after seeing the others at the festival.

He may have thrown away his second chance at fixing things too.  
  
Did he really have an obligation to Dream though it all this?  
  
Was he right in deciding that running away was sparing his past friends the pain?

They had a right to know what had happened to Dream….

Was that even his decision to make in the first place? To decide, _he_ didn't want to put _them_ through that?  
  
Or was he lying to himself and just using that as an excuse?  
  
  
  
"Am I being selfish?" he turned his head, glancing at the wooden cross out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"...in the end, maybe we really are the same person, huh. Both of us unable to actually face any consequences..." he mused quietly, a sad smile pulling at his lips.  
  
God, he was so tired.  
  
He really wanted to stop thinking about all of this, but it plagued him, and he couldn't force it to _stop_ even just this _once_ -  
  
And he had nothing better to do anyway, since the afterlife didn't seem like it was coming to get him any time soon.  
  
  
  
Some indefinite time later, his eyes drifted past the corner of the cabin, drawn by the brightening light of the rising sun and the beautiful colors being painted along the horizon.  
  
Shades of orange mixing with pink hues, embedding the burning red sun between wisps of clouds.  
  


  
It was mesmerizingly beautiful.  
  


  
...familiar.  
  
  
  
  


  
  
... **peaceful**.

…and maybe, just for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...make of that what you will. ;)
> 
> ((...there is a reaccuring theme with the sunsets/sunrises tho... wonder what that's about...))  
> 
> 
> So anyway, sorry for the wait haha but I'm just proud of myself for actually finishing it :>
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and thank you all again for sticking around and reading it! <3


End file.
